Archive for the ‘entertainment’ tag

The Oscars meet the grouch

I am not comfortable living in a world where Sandra Bullock is an Academy Award winner.

Prior to Sunday night, the notion of Sandra Bullock winning an Oscar was unfathomable.  I now realize that anything is possible.  I would not be surprised to learn Paul and Ringo decided to reform the Beatles with Justin Bieber and Eminem as replacements for John and George.  If Dick Cheney defeats Barack Obama for the presidency in 2012, I will not bat an eye.

In recent years, Bullock’s name has become synonymous with terrible movies.  Her resume is a roll call of cinematic abortions, ranging from notable big-budget disasters such as Speed 2: Cruise Control to last year’s universally panned comedy All About Steve.  Movie review aggregator RottenTomatoes.com rates 23 of her 32 films as “rotten.”

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Chatroulette: Gallery of the morose

Have you heard of Chatroulette, the latest social networking sensation that is sweeping the Interwebs?

Of course you haven’t, because you aren’t as plugged in as me.  I am always aware of the latest trends on the Interwebs, because I am a social media expert and a bona fide SEM, SEO and web 2.0 marketing professional.  It says so in my Twitter profile.

Chatroulette allows you to strike up a video chat with random strangers.  Clicking “Play” puts you in touch with one the site’s hundreds of thousands of users.  If you do not like what you see, you can click the “Next” button to find a new chat partner.

To refer to Chatroulette merely as a “social networking website” is an understatement.  It is a social networking tour de force that opens a window to the world of the morose individuals that live on the Interwebs.

Armed with my webcam and a fifth of Captain Morgan, I decided to explore the Chatroulette experience.  After several hours of repeatedly clicking the “Next” button, I developed a strong understanding of the Chatroulette audience makeup.  Also, I got shit-faced drunk in the process.

 I would like to share my findings with you in the form of this spectacular gallery of screenshots.

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Farewell, Winter Olympics. I hate you and I hope that you never come back.

The Winter Olympics ended last night, and I am pleased that the asinine spectacle finally came to a close.

I am sure that millions of people tuned in to the closing ceremonies to watch the elaborate parade of athletes with funny European names smiling and waving.  I imagine that silly national anthems were played, and that Bob Costas said very positive things.  I assume that a torch was involved and that viewers felt a heartwarming sense of national pride.

The extravagant pageantry of the closing ceremonies is thoroughly uninteresting to me.   In fact, I despise the Winter Olympics as a whole. 

I can relate more to the summer games, since I have actually participated in many of the summer sports.  The sports in the Summer Olympics are simply more accessible.  If I want to play basketball, I can purchase a ball and a pair of sneakers and go to a nearby schoolyard.  A desire to run 400 meters could be quenched by stepping outdoors, after phoning the British Empire to determine how far 400 meters is.

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I’m not with Coco: The state of late night television

I am not a fan of Conan O’Brien.

Surely, my opinion will prove to be unpopular in light of the popular “I’m with Coco” social media campaign.  I will concede that Conan is one of the more talented individuals in the late night talk show business. 

However, since Conan’s field is a wretched morass, virtually devoid of discernable talent, this a backhanded compliment at best.  In many ways, the title of “Most Talented Late Night Talk Show Host” is akin to “World’s Tallest Midget,” “Most Honest Politician,” or “Most Celibate Catholic Priest.” 

For over two weeks, the Interwebs and old fashioned media outlets have been atwitter with news and commentary about the impending shake up of NBC’s late night lineup.  I found the contractual ménage à trios between Jay Leno, Conan O’Brien and NBC Universal President Jeff Zucker incredibly compelling.  In fact, I have changed my browser’s start page to TMZ.com, and I click “refresh” between nine and 215 times each day, eagerly anticipating the next twist in this amazing storyline.  My carpal tunnel is acting up. 

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There is no such thing as an extreme condom

Remember the Aerosmith song Livin’ on the Edge?

Well, living on the edge is for pussies.  The term “the edge” evokes the concept of a boundary, so the phrase suggests behavior that flirts with a legal or safety limit. 

Using this definition, examples of “living on the edge” would include paying one’s cell phone bill one day before service was disconnected, driving at the speed limit or falling asleep without brushing and flossing first. 

I do not live on the edge.  In fact, I absolutely obliterate the edge and refuse to acknowledge its existence. 

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Tiger Woods’ questionable use of his penis

I am thoroughly enjoying witnessing the Tiger Woods saga unfold.

This may seem a bit hypocritical, as I recently decried celebrity news outlets for continually churning out mindless drivel.  I make an exception for the tales of Woods’ philandering, as two captivating storylines have been brought to the forefront by the burgeoning fleet of women that have taken turns serving as the golfer’s personal semen dumpster.

Thanks to Rachel Uchitel and her fellow skanks, America has been given a behind-the-scenes look into the sex lives of rich and powerful men.  Celebrities like Tiger hire experienced pussy wranglers to gather a collection of young dames eager for their chance to mount a famous penis.  The ladies are treated to top-shelf liquor and a fun night out, and the lucky lad gets to pick the gal (or gals) that he will bed.

The women are treated like cattle in this extremely organized and businesslike approach to sex.  It is quite similar to high-end restaurants that allow you to pick your lobster from a tank, or your preferred cut of porterhouse from a silver platter. 

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Movie review: Precious was fucking depressing

There are some movies that I would not watch if I were single.

Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” by Sapphire is one such movie.  I tend to prefer comedies or movies with explosions and gunplay.  When the two elements are combined, I am riveted.  Typically, I am not a fan of straight-drama movies, particularly if the film did well at Sundance and critics are raving about it.

One the country has reached a consensus that a dramatic movie is a “must-see,” I tune it out entirely.  Perhaps this makes me a tad bit less cultured, but the contrarian in me appreciates the awestruck and confounded look on people’s faces when I explain that I never saw Million Dollar Baby or Slumdog Millionare.

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Sarah Jessica Parker, attention whorse

I am not one for celebrity worship.

I find the mundane gossip reported by TMZ and Perez Hilton to be quite uninteresting.  I am not concerned about the latest litter that Octomom has whelped, Brad and Angelina’s formidable army of young foreigners or the latest Vegas vixen to proclaim that she once served as the warm and moist fuck-socket for Tiger Woods’ talented seed. 

Unfortunately, boqueen has a fleeting interest in such affairs, so I occasionally find myself sitting on the couch as the blaring picture box dishes out the latest Hollywood “news.”  In such situations, I attempt to shut down brain activity to prevent accidental absorption of the ceaseless drivel.  My attempts are typically futile, which explains why wretched words such as “Kardashian” and “Gosselin” have penetrated my skull and become a part of my lexicon. 

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Terrible fucking music from the summer of 2009

It pains me to admit that the summer is officially over.

In many ways, Chicagoans were cheated this year.  June was cool and rainy, so summer weather didn’t begin in earnest until early July.  Due to the fact that Mother Nature is a vicious raving cunt, Chicago residents enjoyed a total of approximately six and a half weeks of summer weather.

Before I finish writing this post, the leaves will have turned to warm colors and the city will begin salting the streets.  Due to the abrupt change in weather, I would like to take this opportunity to reflect on the summer of 2009.

Music plays an important role in defining my memories of past summers.  Each year, certain “summer songs” become definitive reminders of the specific year. 

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The Fatchelor: “More to Love” episode 3 review, part II

Once again, mizChartreuse and I collaborated on this review of the lastest episode of More to Love, Fox’s reality program, which is essentially a version of The Bachelor featuring fat fucks.  Part one of the review can be found on mizChartreuse.com. 

bokeen:
After a enchanting evening listening to Danielle talk incessantly while shoving gobs of food into her gullet, Luke hand-picked Heather as his next date.  Luke felt sympathetic for Heather, as she had become seasick during last week’s group date on a yacht.  She was too busy blasting vomit over the side of the boat to spend any quality time with Luke, so he treated her to an afternoon date so that she could learn more about the bachelor’s mundane existence.

Combined, the couple weighs more than 500 pounds.  Transporting such heavy freight is a logistical nightmare.  They were both packed into large crates and a loaded semi-trailer truck.  Upon being unloaded and unpacked, Heather was delighted to find that she and Luke would spend the afternoon horseback riding. 

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